


Are There Klingon Coffee Shops?

by PeachGO3



Category: Star Trek: The Next Generation
Genre: Coffee Shops, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Holodecks/Holosuites, Kissing, M/M, Mutual Pining, raktajino, turned out self-indulgent and cliché but I don’t caaare
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-18
Updated: 2020-01-18
Packaged: 2021-02-19 08:13:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22307959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PeachGO3/pseuds/PeachGO3
Summary: First Officer Riker cultivates an enthusiasm for coffee shops that Worf can’t quite follow (yet). No AU ♡
Relationships: Data & Worf (Star Trek), William Riker/Worf
Comments: 11
Kudos: 63





	Are There Klingon Coffee Shops?

**Author's Note:**

> What if the coffee shop would go on to evolve into a romantic literary trope, like Romeo’s balcony scene or the door scene from Love Actually – Riker would be so onboard with it, you can’t change my mind. Also, what an underrated pair. (I apologize in advance – Riker is a smooth-talking flirt machine and I Am Not)
> 
> Have fun reading!

“Commander William Riker is currently located on Holodeck Three.”

Worf nodded and excused himself. Holodeck Three was enroute to the observation lounge, so he figured he could just as well go and pick the Commander up. The ship’s onboard time was seven in the morning, which was a strange time of day to visit the holodeck, Worf found. Maybe the Commander was working out before his shift, but he usually liked to do that afterwards, Worf remembered as he made his way to Holodeck Three.

“I’m not much of a morning person, sorry,” he had said back when Worf had invited him for matutinal workout and sparring sessions some time ago. Then why did the Commander go to the holodeck now? Worf did not want to bother with thinking about it, as he was only seconds away from finding out by himself.

But when he found out, it did confuse him.

The holodeck was programmed for an old urban area, probably Earth, as the gray birds and terran pot plants and flowers indicated. The ground was cobblestoned and flowed through pastel buildings in small streets with no pedestrians or other animals beside the birds. A bunch of them fled when Worf began walking towards a small locale with small wooden tables in front of it, surely a café of some sort, as indicated by the smell. The low morning sun was bedazzling.

Worf found the Commander sitting by the window, grinning widely. Worf growled. He disliked being noticed first.

Exhaling, he entered the tiny locale and turned left where the Commander was cupping a mug of coffee, gesturing him to sit down, but Worf stayed where he was. “Commander,” he began, but Riker just answered him with that hearty laugh of his: “Good morning to you too, Worf. What’s with that face?”

He took a sip of the coffee as he eyed Worf with shining blue eyes.

Suppressing a sigh, Worf stepped closer and sat down, sending the oncoming waitress away with a single look. Except for them, there was only one other costumer, a lonely human woman by the window on the other side of the room. From his position, the Commander must’ve been looking at her the whole time, but now Worf blocked the way.

Feeling somewhat out of place, he folded his hands on the table and found that his body actually relaxed a little when he replied, “Good morning.” It felt vaguely intimate.

Riker smiled over the edge of his cup. The monotone music did not seem to bother him at all. Why, he must’ve programmed it to play. Awfully fireless. Why play such quiet music when the caffeine was clearly meant to wake him up? How contradictory.

“Commander, the morning meeting is scheduled at 0715 hours.”

“I know,” Riker answered innocently.

Worf waited, not even annoyed by this provoking display of nonchalance. Not anymore.

Riker grinned as he continued: “…Which, considering the three minutes it takes me to go to the observation lounge, leaves me exactly seven minutes of coffee shop experience to enjoy.”

“I see,” Worf said. He did not want to stay another seven minutes – unlike the Commander, who made no move to get going.

“Sir,” Worf said firmly, making Riker sigh. “Come on, Worf,” he replied with a smile, “let me have my seven minutes.”

Worf hated to admit that he dreaded situations like these, when the Commander’s smile was practically glued to his face, because it left Worf both inconvenienced and… warm, somehow. Today, it was particularly bad, and Worf sighed. He tolerated the softness, but it still was bothersome. It seemed an unfitting sentiment to have towards a man like Commander Riker.

“Why don’t you stay the time?” Riker asked softly.

Worf tilted his head. “Is that an order?” he inquired, pulling a chuckle from the Commander, who declined quietly, which was very much like him. He never ordered Worf to engage in disaffectionate actions, regardless how serious or trivial the matter.

“However,” Riker said softly, “I’d still like to have your company. Privately.”

Worf’s head started rattling. “Off-duty, you mean?” he asked.

“Yes,” Riker said and took another sip. “I take it you came to pick me up anyway?”

“Affirmative,” Worf said.

“Good. Don’t want a coffee of your own?” Riker asked, but he added right away, “Ahh, let me guess: Klingons don’t drink coffee.”

Worf paused. How did Commander Riker, out of all people on the Enterprise, not know about Raktajino? He opened his mouth to speak, but the Commander already stood up to leave, saying, “I don’t wanna keep you here longer than necessary. I don’t want you to feel like a prisoner.”

Worf rose as well and hoped that his relief would not show.

“Computer,” Riker said, “save program.”

Worf decided to fill the time it took them to reach the observation lounge – three minutes – by asking about the simulation. “I recall you mentioning that you detested rising early,” he said.

“That’s put a bit too harshly,” Riker replied. “I’m just not a morning person, that’s all. I need my cup of coffee and then I’m ready to go. And I figured I could just as well have it in good Parisian company rather than alone in my quarters.”

“That’s why you visited the holodeck at an hour this early.”

“Exactly.”

“But a lot of crewmembers drink their morning coffee in Ten Forward or other small groups across the ship,” Worf noted. “Why not join Counselor Troi and Doctor Crusher?”

“Because they have their coffee in Beverly’s office,” Riker said with a grin, as though that circumstance carried any meaning.

Worf did not say anything.

“The coffee shop, Worf,” Riker said and stopped walking. In situations like these, the Captain would express his dismay about the crew’s lack of knowledge with a profound sigh, but Riker just grinned widely, seemingly excited to explain the matter to Worf. His eyes were very bright whenever he looked like this, blue like the oceans of Pacifica.

Worf cleared his throat.

“A Parisian café, nineteen sixties. Flowers, soft bossa nova music, a dark stranger looking at you in the rays of the morning sun,” Riker enumerated with great enthusiasm.

“You find the location appealing,” Worf said, trying to distract himself from the warmth washing through his chest.

“’Appealing’ is an understatement,” Riker said and patted Worf’s shoulder, continuing his way. Sadly, the tingling warmth did not go with him. It stayed in Worf’s chest, making itself a home, which was _highly inconvenient_. Worf followed the Commander in silence and in the hope that the embarrassment did not show on his face.

»»——- ♡ ——-««

It was the same old game: A week passed, a week full of trying to chase away the warmth and the prickling that came with it. Most of the time it went away completely. But whenever the Commander gave him a stern nod, or when he smiled at Worf, wide and shining, it returned with full force, and Worf did not like it.

Well, he _did_ like it. But it felt strange and untrustworthy. Scary, for lack of a better term, and Worf did not want to be scared. Or – even worse – appear to be scared. Mostly he felt plain great when he was with Riker, it was always a good time. But whenever he got self-conscious, he did not seem to be himself.

“Commander William Riker is currently located on Holodeck Three.”

“Of course,” Worf growled, briefly pondering whether he should go there again. He did.

A look on the holodeck’s computer screen confirmed that the Commander, yet again, had programmed it for a café, this time modelled after those in New York City, early twenty-fourth century. When the holodeck’s doors swished open, they revealed a chic, minimalistic locale with walls of glass that opened the view to a sea of skyscrapers. Worf found the Commander sitting at such a window wall, coffee cup in his hands, listening to the same anachronistic piano and guitar music as the week before.

But this time, he did not notice Worf.

Careful to move quickly, Worf stepped up to him and was about to clear his throat, but it was then when he figured he should rather use the familiar greeting that they had used before to catch Riker’s attention – after all, the situation wasn’t all too different from meeting on the bridge, was it?

“Morning, Commander.”

Commander Riker turned his head in surprise, and for a split second, he looked so caught and dreamy that the warmth returned with the force of a meteor.

“Good morning, Worf,” he replied, relinquishing the formal address.

Worf sat down, folded his hands and tried to indulge in the familiar comfort of Riker’s company by speaking freely. He said, “I must admit, Commander, that I will never get quite used to humans greeting each other this way. I suppose it means to say that the morning is good.”

“Believe me,” Riker said and put down his cup with a soft clink, “you’re not the first non-human to scrutinize this habit.”

“How relieving.”

Riker smiled from below. It was a different smile than last week, but no less devastating. Worf looked down.

“So, you came to pick me up again?” he heard the Commander ask.

“Yes. The meeting is at 0715 hours.”

“I’m happy to hear that. It’s very nice of you.” Riker lifted his cup to empty it. He sighed and looked outside the window, and then down. “Amazing, aren’t they,” he mused in fascination, “these canyons of iron and glass. Look at how small the shuttles look from here.”

Worf agreed quietly, wondering where that topic came from all of a sudden.

“They look cleaner than their stone counterparts in the west, don’t they?” Riker continued. “But even these iron canyons have stratums, see?” He pointed outside. “The foundation of that building is late twenty-second century. And then they build it higher and higher. Added more glass on top and made it sleeker and gave more rooms to the plants…”

“It is impressing architecture,” Worf agreed, despite not looking out the window at all. In moments like this, true beauty laid elsewhere. In blue eyes and smooth human features, courage and grace shining through softly. Beauty in experience and memory rather than in what meets the eye.

He couldn’t help but notice, “You are less well rested this morning.”

“Compared to your last visit, I am,” Riker agreed and smiled tiredly at him. It was bewitching – the music and the smell did their parts. They served delicious pastries here, apparently, Worf thought – any sensory input to distract him from the warmth.

“I will wait until 0712 hours then,” he said, cursing himself the very second he spoke.

“Really?” Riker smiled, shifting slightly. “Wanna order something?”

“I don’t eat this early in the morning,” Worf said.

“Try a coffee then, maybe?”

“No, thank you, sir.”

Riker chuckled at that address. “Are we not here privately?” he asked, and Worf did not know how to take that question, so he just sat in silence, trying to think of an answer that would suffice to disguise his blissful confusion.

However, he did not have to explain himself, as Riker smiled and turned his head to look outside again, leaving the question behind. His foot touched Worf’s leg beneath the table, and it seemed to be a deliberate action, because Riker continued to move it up and down, eyeing Worf from the side and licking his lips.

It was _very warm in here_.

Just when he was about to totally give in to the comfort of the situation, Worf exhaled and looked around cautiously. This time there were no other costumers, only a dark-haired waitress who eyed them happily. Worf huffed. This was no place for a Klingon. The Treaty had been signed only a few years prior to this simulation; no Klingon would have visited Earth in those days.

Still, when they finally got up, Worf was very relaxed and felt refreshed, if still warm. Riker grinned and patted his back. “You’re glowing this morning,” he said, which was meant as a compliment, Worf felt.

“Thank you, sir.”

“Maybe that’s the magic of the coffee shop,” Riker said in a teasing tone and called for the exit. However, ere leaving, he turned around to say, in a vastly different tone, “You perfectly fit its scenery.” He smiled. “Same time next week?”

What? “If you want to,” Worf managed to say.

“Of course I want to,” Riker smiled and deactivated the program. He seemed just as refreshed as Worf himself, but that was not thanks to the coffee alone – what in the Heavens was ‘the magic of the coffee shop’? Lame music and nice views? How good could a coffee that wasn’t Raktajino be anyway? What did William Riker know if he did not know Raktajino?

Worf pressed his lips shut as he followed, but he ended up smiling when he found the Commander waiting for him with shining blue eyes. “Are you sure you want me to join you in the simulations? I believe a Klingon… disturbs the experience,” Worf said, but Riker just frowned.

“Hey,” he sighed with a hand laid onto Worf’s arm, “I meant what I said. You, in a coffee shop – that’s a sight to behold.” His frown melted into a wide grin. “You’re a handsome man, Worf. Don’t diminish yourself.”

“I am no man,” Worf replied, but it was in good will. Riker’s words of affection meant a lot to him. They always made _one particular thought_ resurface, one that Worf dreaded thinking. “Let’s get going,” his Commander said and hurried mockingly to not delay the meeting’s beginning, which meant Worf had no time to ask him what exactly ‘coffee shop magic’ was.

He was not procrastinating to ask, no, it was… tactical delay.

»»——- ♡ ——-««

“I have found this question to be exceedingly difficult, and the ship’s library has failed to provide me with adequate answers.”

Data frowned slightly. “Indeed, human preferences are difficult to grasp at times,” he agreed in that well-behaved tone of his, but afterwards he just stared. Consulting the android was something of a ‘last resort’ maneuver for Worf, despite finding him a dear friend, just because talking to him could feel so… naked, for lack of a better term. However, Data noticed Worf wanted to ask something, and he really listened, that much was sure.

“Can your memory banks teach me about the appeal of a coffee shop?” Worf asked, restraint. This was so trivial, but immensely important at the same time.

“Accessing,” Data said and blinked. “Ah, coffee shops. A popular trope typically found in romantic literature.”

What? Worf felt like his face was close to falling apart. “Explain,” he ordered, locking _that one thought_ away deep inside his head.

“Several hundred years ago, the coffee shop has evolved into a location typically associated with romantic encounters in Earth literature,” Data continued, “similar to the balcony from even older Earth texts, or the water fountain in literature from Argelius II. This literary trope has evolved into an idealized romanticization of the concept of an actual coffee shop, which-”

“How? What is romantic about an overly crowded locale that serves tiny beverages and plays monotone music all the time?” Worf growled, making the android flinch.

“Sir,” Data continued, “that is the romanticized element I was talking about. At a certain point, the coffee shop was no longer a place of feasible and practical consumption and socializing, but the idea of a dream place that was quiet, private and escapist.”

“Escapist?” Worf asked in disbelief. This was getting worse by the minute.

Data nodded. “Yes, sir. It became an imaginary place to calm down, daydream and experience contained romantic encounters, which was not that far from the actual reality of a coffee shop. But humans soon began to blind out all undesirable aspects, such as high price ranges, a high level of noise and overly busy crowds, so that the idea became inherently positive and idealistic.”

Which was why there were no other people in Commander Riker’s programs, except for one or two women of his taste, Worf thought and clenched his jaw. So, the images he had been seeing in the holodeck hadn’t even been realistic depictions of Earth! Of course a Klingon would not disturb the scenery then.

“Elements of a coffee shop that had repeatedly been described as pleasant by humans are: easy conversation, good beverages, stimulating smells, the clinking of cutlery, soft jazz or bossa nova background music, the company of-”

“Thank you, Lieutenant,” Worf blurted out, trying to organize his thoughts. So, perhaps Riker had only revealed half a truth when he had said he wanted coffee to awaken his sleep-drugged body. Maybe he also wanted to escape and indulge in a human-made fantasy. But which reality did he want to escape from? This was not like him at all; Commander Riker was a decorated and respected Starfleet officer, he would never run from unpleasant situations like this. Commander Riker would never indulge in these kinds of actions and resort to ‘coffee shop magic’, surely Worf was accusing him wrongly. It clashed with the graceful warrior image he attached to Riker.

“Do you require further information, sir?” Data asked somewhen.

“No.”

“Would you like to join Geordi and me in our vintage cartoon night?”

“No,” Worf growled and left. He had yet to understand one piece of the puzzle, namely how a Klingon would fit this human fantasy. _That one thought_ crept to the surface of his consciousness yet again –

What if…? Worf cringed as he thought the sentence to an end.

_What if he does love me?_

Worf growled all day. He still went to pick up the Commander the next morning, because he needed answers. Not necessarily from Riker, no, rather from his own heart. How can it handle the one thought?

Furthermore, he had next to no power left to ignore the ongoing fire in his chest; that’s what has become of the simple warmth once he had saved the Commander from an overloading phaser earlier this week. His heart had skipped a beat at the sight of those wide-open eyes and their screaming blue, it had begun racing when Riker had laid a panicking hand onto his arm, when they had laid like this far too long, gasping, struggling to get up as they realized they would survive –

Worf closed his eyes. This was enough of an answer, wasn’t it? He did feel for Riker. But he was not allowed to _feel_ this way for his Commander. How could he escape? And how could he help Riker stop trying to escape from whatever was bothering him? Klingons weren’t built for this. No enemy to choke or stab. Just… warmth. It was devastating. On Qo’noS, matters of the heart were easily resolved, but here? With a human?

Maybe a coffee shop did present an adequate escape.

Maybe he should start by asking how Riker took his coffee.

Holodeck Three’s doors opened with the soft swishing sound, and Worf entered hesitantly. There was porcelain ambience, and a fire was softly cracking somewhere, but there was no music. Red light from the outside the windows formed long, dark shadows on the laminate floor. A Vulcan tea room.

Worf took a deep breath. Refreshing. A pair of Vulcans eyed him as he entered, but they did not say anything, they just poured themselves another cup of tea. Instead, the Commander’s voice called for him, fairly quietly so, yet it already sufficed in making Worf’s heart melt.

“Worf?”

“Yes?”

His eyes found Riker sitting on a pile of pillows in a dark corner with a Vulcan tea cup in both hands. “Good morning,” he said softly, and Worf sighed as the spell of his smile drew him in. Breathing deeply, he sat down onto the soft cushion next to the table, trying to keep himself together as he replied, “Good morning.”

“Slept well?” Riker asked, sipping his tea.

“Yes,” Worf replied. They felt so off in uniform – this whole place was like a time capsule. It felt disrespectful to sit here in something that wasn’t a traditional Vulcan costume.

“And your back?”

Worf needed a few seconds ere understanding he was talking about the phaser incident. “I am fully recovered by now,” he answered.

“That’s great news. I was scared we’d have to go on away missions without you. Tea?” Riker asked, pointing to the pot on the table. A candle beneath it kept the tea warm. Riker grinned when he took off the porcelain cap, eyes always on Worf, and said, “It’s a fruit blend. Prune. You like prune drinks, don’t you?”

Worf looked down, growling quietly. The fire in his chest made him want to sink to the bottom of an Arctic ocean, and the dimmed lights and delicious smells made it really hard to keep a professional façade. The sensory input was no longer a distraction from the warm feelings, no, it multiplied them.

“How considerate,” he uttered, pulling a chuckle from Riker. “Thought so,” the human said and poured him a cup. Vulcan tea cups were even smaller than human ones, they were so tiny, Worf thought when he took it into his hands.

But, as expected, the tea tasted amazing. The drink of a warrior.

Riker smiled. “I thought I’d change things up a little bit, for you,” he said. His voice was very soft. “It’s no black tea, but I remembered you liking prune, so… I mean, it’s no Klingon tea ceremony either, just a little get-together, you know? They mixed something with fruits and the Vulcan equivalent of maté. Now I can have my caffeine and you to drink with me.”

Feeling the blue eyes gracing him with warmth, Worf struggled to speak. Never had someone done something like this for him and simultaneously told him that his company was desirable. It was not that far from a Klingon tea ceremony – ‘death is an experience best shared – like tea’.

Love is an experience best shared.

 _That one thought_ returned and… It was all a bit too much. And being this calm and inactive was against Klingon nature. But it wasn’t dreadful, as it should be. It was nice.

Opening his mouth to speak, Worf paused. ‘Commander’ wasn’t the appropriate address, he felt. The whole situation felt far too intimate to do so. Not only was William Riker a fellow warrior, he was also a valued friend who had begun to integrate Worf into his sacred morning routine, which, on top of everything, had romantic connotations to humans. Humans, who were not trained in graceful silence as Klingons were, so he felt the need for verbal acknowledgement now. Everything was so complicated all of a sudden. What to do?

Another look into the tea cup and the warmth in his chest told him he would be all right, Worf somehow felt.

“ _jup_ ,” he thus settled on, “it is an honor to have this drink with you.” It felt good to call him that, ‘a friend’.

Riker smiled softly. “Thank you, Worf.”

“But,” Worf continued firmer and stopped himself from saying ‘Commander’ just in time, “why did you change the location from coffee shop to tea room? Is it because of my company?”

“Kind of,” Riker grinned. He looked sublime in these lights. “I mean, I also figured I could use the holodeck to revisit a place I’ve already been to, rather than go to a fantasy world that never really existed.” He gave the last sentence a strong emphasis, and Worf did not know what to make of it.

“My presence does not disturb this made-up reality of yours?” he asked firmly.

“No,” Riker said, looking vaguely irritated, “of course not.”

“But either coffee shop simulation of yours has been escapist in nature, has it not?”

Riker sighed and leaned back, avoiding his gaze – the roles were reversed now, it seemed. “Any fantasy, and the coffee shop especially, is escapist in nature. But is that a bad thing? This Vulcan tea room,” he said and gestured towards the ceiling, “does exist on Vulcan, in a small corner somewhere in ShiKahr, just the way it is here now. But I can’t possibly go there right now, we’re light years away. So, I escape to the holodeck. I guess.”

“But what do you want to escape from?” Worf blurted out, in a pitch that seemed inappropriate for a Vulcan locale. The porcelain clinking stopped, and Riker seemed a bit pale. But when his eyes met Worf’s again, his face broke into a soft smile. “Computer, freeze program,” he said and added in a soft voice, “Come on, Mister Worf. We only have three minutes left.”

Growling in dismay, Worf rose together with him, but not ere emptying the tiny cup of prune tea. It gave him strength to digest the formal address. He did not further question his heart, he was sure now. He felt for him. Devastatingly so, burning, melting.

The only remaining doubt – _that one thought_ – was if William Riker felt the same.

How does one continue from here? Worf knew how a Klingon would, but was that the appropriate way for someone like Riker? Riker was a warrior, but he was also human.

Worf sat in his quarters, brooding. What if he just verbally confronted Riker with these feelings? It wasn’t necessarily the Klingon way, but at least it was direct and honest. If Riker did love him back, he would surely say so right afterwards, and they could… get intimate, or something. Worf would be able to witness his bravery first hand, gaze into the blue eyes forever and have him cook Klingon food.

A marriage between a Klingon and a human had never been suggested, but it would be possible, wouldn’t it? They’d live happily and continue their work in Starfleet as they had before, with the added merit of having to protect your husband, which was a very motivating prospect in combat, for Worf at least.

But what if he wasn’t loved back? Would Riker be able to hurt him by turning him away?

Would he turn him away?

Worf growled as his fists hardened on the weapon table; he did not want to think about this. Why had he started thinking at all? Shouldn’t he just do it the Klingon way and scream poems at him? There had to be some love poetry collections in that cabinet…

_“Through darkness and blood, through night and its terrors, strikes one thought –”_

Freezing, Worf stopped himself mid-motion. Another thought had crept into his mind, one that he should probably consider, and that was whether or not he would embarrass and dishonor his Commander _and friend_ if he publicly declared his love the Klingon way.

Should he declare it at all? Was it dishonorable to keep it to himself, like a coward? Or would embarrassing his friend (and himself) be the greater dishonor? What if Riker could not continue his work on the Enterprise because of Worf’s foolishness? What if he would need to quit serving Starfleet?

What if their friendship came to an end?

Throwing his hands up in the air, Worf screamed at his couch. Sitting around doing nothing was no solution at all! He needed to do something, anything…!

»»——- ♡ ——-««

“You seem… different, is all I’m saying,” LaForge pointed out. Sighing, Worf took a handful of the _racht_ snacks he was handing him. They were all right, live at least.

“Perhaps you would like an additional blanket?” Data asked.

Worf shifted, returning his eyes to the holoscreen. “No,” he growled. And took another handful of _racht_. Six days had passed since the encounter at the Vulcan tea room, so tomorrow would be the day Worf would pick up Riker to accompany him to the morning meeting.

But Worf feared he wasn’t prepared for that. And ‘Vintage cartoon night’ with a human and an android was not as boring as he had originally feared. It even gave him an important clue as to where to take his fate:

“I’ve never felt this way about anyone. I want to do something for her! …But what?” – “Well, there’s the usual things – flowers, chocolates – promises you don’t intend to keep.” – “Ahh, no, no. It has to be something very special…”

Worf straightened up with realization as he eyed the bowl of _racht_ on top of the blanket. Klingon food – of course, how could he have forgotten? Warmth flooding his chest, he realized he knew exactly what to do. Zest for action overcame him.

“This is a good vintage cartoon,” he said and noticed LaForge and Data smiling at each other.

»»——- ♡ ——-««

Indeed, lots of crewmembers took their morning coffee in Ten Forward, but there was still a single table free, right beside a cosmos window. And it was early in the morning, so the sleepy crowd’s chattering wasn’t too loud. The appointment should work without problems. Worf had awaited Riker’s arrival in with great anticipation, and when he did arrive, Worf’s heart may have skipped a beat or two. “Good morning,” he said with a firm voice. Riker looked around with both anticipation and confusion when he replied, “Good morning.”

“I am happy you came,” Worf said, unable to stop a small smile from creeping onto his face when Riker sat down in that unusual fashion of his.

“Of course. When Lieutenant Worf says he’s got a surprise for me, I must most definitely find out,” Riker grinned with shining eyes.

Worf shifted slightly. He was not overly fond of secrets or the unexpected, but he knew that Commander Riker, on the other hand, loved surprises. He looked at Worf questioningly when Worf gave Guinan her cue with a single look. Riker grinned with anticipation, back all straightened up. “What do you have in store, Lieutenant?” he asked in a singsong tone. Worf looked down smiling.

_“Belle, there’s something I want to show you. But first, you have to close your eyes – it’s a surprise.”_

“I understand you’re intrigued,” he said.

“Well, that’s an understatement.”

“Good,” Worf growled in contentment. “However, it is necessary that you…” He hesitated, and Riker looked at him hooked. “…that you close your eyes. Please.”

Riker stilled for a moment, still smiling, and then he nodded slightly. “All right,” he murmured with a hedonistic expression across his features, and Worf exhaled calmly. Yes, he was calm – he had dreaded to feel scared, or to sweat terribly, or to even stutter – but none of that had happened. Worf was calm, relaxed, breathing evenly. Maybe that was because he was still tired? But he often felt like this around Riker, so it wasn’t out of the ordinary at all.

“Here you go, Worf,” Guinan said and put down the two glasses on their table.

Riker’s lips twitched at the smell. “Permission to open my eyes?” he asked.

“Not yet,” Worf said firmly, unshaken by the fact a superior officer had just asked him for permission. He silently thanked Guinan and placed Riker’s glass right in front of him. Great glasses, not tiny cups, and steaming deliciously.

“Now,” Worf said softly, “you can look.”

Riker did open his eyes, but before he looked down onto the table, he stared at Worf for a very long time, smiling, shining, warm. He looked as though he wanted to say a million things. But then his gaze dropped to his glass.

“Try it,” Worf prompted with a proud smile.

Riker took the glass by its black handle and had a sip. Worf thoroughly studied his reaction: First his brows dropped, then his lips smacked softly and he looked up to meet Worf’s eyes, smiling. “That is amazing coffee, Worf,” he said softly. “I can’t tell what’s in it, but it’s exactly the right amount of sugar. I’d say it’s pretty much perfect, gosh.” And he took another sip.

“I am glad to hear that,” Worf said truthfully. “I have asked Counselor Troi for advice in terms of your coffee preferences.”

“Oh, she knows how I take my coffee, all right,” Riker laughed quietly. “How do you like yours?”

“Strong and bitter,” Worf answered. “However, I… do like to add some sugar from time to time,” he added truthfully. His words seemed to delight Riker, who grinned before taking nothing short of _a gulp_ of the steaming hot beverage, and frankly, he looked absurdly handsome as he did. Worf shifted.

“Ahh,” Riker sighed and put down the glass to fixate Worf’s eyes. “What a morning.”

Worf looked down. “I was hoping that Ten Forward would be sufficient. It’s no Parisian coffee shop after all.”

“But you’re here with me,” Riker said without hesitation and tilted his head, fast, to look at him with a soft expression. His gaze dropped for a second, and then he did this game again, the one where his foot would touch Worf’s leg in a manner that was almost seductive in nature, and Worf instinctively leaned into the touch.

_One thought._

But that couldn’t be… Worf had a sip from his own coffee ere asking, “Is my company alone enough to be escapist for you?”

“What do you mean?” Riker asked softly.

“As I said before,” Worf sighed, “this is no Earth coffee shop. And no Vulcan tea room you wish to go back to.” He paused briefly, swallowing down a quiet ‘Commander’, and said, “I wondered what it was that a man like you would want to escape from. Into a fantasy of jazz music and caffeine beverages.”

For a few moments, Riker eyed him cautiously, but then his face softened with a smile Worf had never seen on him before. “Oh, Worf. Maybe I did daydream,” he said quietly.

“But what could scare a man like you in such a manner?” Worf asked. Just when he started to think this inquiry could possibly be highly inappropriate, Riker’s foot came to a halt.

“Maybe I was scared,” Riker said, eying Worf closely. “You’re right…” He sighed and fumbled with the half-emptied glass between his hands. “It takes courage to express one’s feelings to another, Worf,” he said, and Worf’s heart seemed to have stopped working.

 _One thought,_ just one dream, one hope that Riker would –

“Interspecies’ love confessions are difficult, adding to the fact that you’re also a cherished friend and colleague. It was something I was not ready to cope with. I wasn’t ready. One starts thinking about… how to phrase sentences, how to act to not be disrespectful. From there, it’s easy to slip into daydreaming and… escaping the ghastly situation of not knowing what to do. Into a coffee shop, possibly.” He looked up with shining blue eyes, rubbing a thumb over the edge of his glass. “But maybe my clumsy mumbling does have some kind of clarity in it,” he added softly.

Worf’s mouth opened and closed, his head rattled and his heart raced, oh, everything was too much. Too warm. It was love all along. _It is love_.

In his head, ‘Commander’ had changed to ‘friend’ to ‘love’ to – there were no words for what he was feeling. But he needed to say something, humans did not just sit in silence when confronted with another’s true feelings, nor did they drop everything to mate right where they were. What to say when –

“Tell me,” Riker continued in a tone so casual that Worf wanted to scream, “what kind of coffee is this?”

“Will,” Worf blurted out in a stern tone, making Riker’s eyes widen. “Yes?”

“Is that all?” Worf scolded and hissed a Klingon curse under his breath. “All this time you were sitting in around pining for me in silence? Do you have nothing more to say for yourself?”

“What, a Klingon telling me that I talk too little? And ‘sat around pining’?” Riker’s eyes narrowed. “Haven’t you been doing the same? Geordi told me you were watching Disney movies, together with Data, is that any better than a tea room?” he hissed, not caring if people stared.

And it was true – Riker and Worf had shared the same experience of pining and silence and escape. Urgh. “Apparently,” Worf growled, “I have been doing the same. As you.”

There were a few moments of silence.

And then: “You knew about my feelings for you,” Worf realized with widened eyes.

Riker shrugged. “Maybe, um, I…” His voice trailed off. “I shouldn’t have run away when you confronted me back in the tea room,” he said quietly, but with an unshaken voice. “And you are right to have me explain myself. I apologize. Wasn’t very gentleman-like. I was being an idiot. Just like I have been just now, actually. Sorry.”

Worf nodded, and Riker made a disbelieving sound. “Normally I’m not that hesitant. Pining, I mean. Especially when I’m almost sure my feelings would get reciprocated. It’s not my usual style, but then again” – he laughed softly – “you’re no ordinary crush.”

Shifting on his chair, Worf cleared his throat. “I have not behaved honorable myself. I was a coward. I should have been blunt from the start,” he said.

“Same,” Riker agreed with a tired smile. Worf returned it, softly asking, “When was ‘the start’?”

Confronted with that question, Riker seemed completely speechless for once, and that was enough to satisfy and comfort Worf. Who needed an answer anyway? He smiled, feeling oddly relieved, and leaned his own foot against Riker’s leg under the table. “The… beverage is called Raktajino, a Klingon coffee made of _rangH_ beans. It’s widely popular with other honorable races,” he explained with soft features. “I was crestfallen to find out you did not know it. Klingons do drink coffee.”

Riker swallowed visibly and moved his eyes as if his imagination was running wild. “Are there Klingon coffee shops?” he asked quietly, eyes now fixated on Worf’s. His mouth sounded dry.

Worf decided to answer him with a knowing smile.

»»——- ♡ ——-««

“ _bangwI’ SoH_ …”

Tearing at his hair, Riker gasped from below. “Oh god, me too,” he panted in-between kisses. “I know damn well what you’re saying, and it’s… doing many things to me. It’s also really turning me on… ha…” A closet like this was highly inappropriate for mating, Worf found, there wasn’t nearly enough space. Things had started out tame – midway to the turbolift, Riker had pulled him here, to hug and whisper sweet nothings into his ear. To stroke over strong arms and place a tender kiss on his cheeks, then on his lips. To pull him closer, embracing one another gently. Swaying.

“Have I ever told you how much I love that rough skin of yours? God, why are we only doing this now?”

But Riker knew a few things about Klingon culture – and mating rituals – and he knew which buttons to press, and now here they were, sweaty but not yet bloody messes in a dark closet somewhere on Deck Ten with mouths tasting of hot Raktajino – Worf would never be able to drink some without remembering this, and frankly, he couldn’t care less.

Cheeks flushed all hot, Riker sighed in contentment. “Oh, this is so romantic,” he gasped with a breathless chuckle, swollen lips parted.

“Is it?” Worf frowned, struggling to keep balance. Struggling to keep composure. Which parts belonged to him and which to Riker, he didn’t know anymore. But with Riker, he could do anything he would do with a Klingon woman, he was not fragile. He was strong, and eager, and compassionate, and Worf was very desperately in love and kissed him again, lips pressing hard. Human mating rituals weren’t so bad after all. And to be this warrior’s lover was a great honor – in fact, Worf was so much in love he felt _dizzy_.

“Ohh, Lieutenant,” Riker chuckled right beside his mouth, “yes, it is. I could tell you about the cultural significance of making out in a locked broom closet for hours.”

Heat rising, Worf wondered what a broom was, but just then one of their communicators beeped and icily cut his train of thought. “Number One?” the Captain’s voice asked.

Riker’s eyes stayed steady, as did his breath, when he answered with a heaving chest, “On my way, Captain.”

“Good,” said Riker’s communicator, and Worf’s followed: “Mister Worf, this is the Captain.”

“On my way, sir,” Worf said after having exhaled deeply.

“We better get going, hm?” Riker mused.

“Meeting at 0715 hours,” Worf remembered absently.

“Right,” Riker smiled and softly patted his cheek, only to let a thumb stroke over Worf’s bottom lip. “But don’t worry,” he added in a low voice. “Remember that elevator feature Geordi wanted to install?”

Worf frowned, still helplessly lovedrunk. Passages of love poetry flashed through his mind. “What do you mean? The turbolift? Commander LaForge did talk about jazz musi-” Worf shot him a wide-eyed glare and pressed his lips together as he realized that Riker was referring to yet another human romantic literary trope, but it only made the human grin even wider, and that, in turn, made Worf want to melt into a smiling puddle of goo.

“Here, just let me adjust your uniform, Lieutenant… Ready to go.”

All soft, they stumbled out of the closet, holding hands, to make their way to the morning meeting, past snickering crewmates and the usual Enterprise’s routine. Back in the light, Riker’s eyes were shining brightly in a beautiful contrast to his pink cheeks, and Worf stared shamelessly.

“Let’s hope my face will cool down in the meantime,” Riker said with an unsure chuckle once the turbolift’s doors had closed. In the end, Worf found great comfort in the knowledge that both of them experienced inconveniences connected to warmth.

“Main Bridge,” he said with a firm voice and put his arms behind his back. He smiled, chuckled even, and growled in happiness. It _was_ a good morning.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I love these two ahhh;; Tell me your thoughts & headcanons for them in the comments, if you like ♡
> 
> edit: I made a tumblr blog for this pair cause there wasn't one before, [check it out!!](https://rikerxworf.tumblr.com)


End file.
